


Ten Count [ on hiatus ]

by NolyRavioli



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 18:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1479205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NolyRavioli/pseuds/NolyRavioli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten Count is the odd love story about Marco Bodt, a mysophobic secretary, and Jean Kirschtein, a counselor at Titan Psychosomatic.<br/>Their story begins after Erwin Smith,president of 'Wings of Freedom', gets into an accident and is saved by Jean. When Marco and Jean speak to each other, Jean easily notices Marco is mysophobic. From there, events ensue with plenty of confusion, humor, and past stories. </p>
<p>|| Inspired by the manga, Ten Count, by Takarai Rihito ||</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Count [ on hiatus ]

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first time work with JeanMarco and Shingeki no Kyojin in fact. I'd appreciate it if you correct me on any mistakes and leave feedback!

**mysophobia** _noun_

Abnormal fear of or distaste for uncleanliness or contamination _(mysophobic: adjective)_

_‘Merriam-Webster dictionary’_

* * *

 

            A normal being, free of an abnormal fear, would never stop to think about how dirty the world actually is. Honestly, there are a lot of things that make the world filthy—slippers, telephone receivers, the straps of a train. The filthiest thing in this world has to be _the air breathed by others._ How does my mysophobia play a part in the story? Well, it introduced me to Jean Kirschtein, the biggest dork I have ever met.

* * *

**  
**

“Mr. President,” I started, “This is your schedule for the day—at one o’clock you have a lunch meeting with Kyojin Commercials; afterwards, a three o’clock meeting at the company.  Also, in an email you received today—"

            That’s how my days normally went, assisting president, Erwin Smith. It was a pretty obvious, since I am his secretary after all. I am sincerely thankful for Erwin because of how well he puts up with my mysophobia. After he touches something, I usually disinfect it before using it after him. Erwin never minds, giving me a small smile.

            Erwin’s phone started to buzz, cutting my sentence off.

“Oh, hold on,” was what he told me before stepping out the car.

“Mr. President, please watch out for cars,” was the last thing I said before the car door was closed. The window was rolled down half-way. I let out a sigh that I didn't even know I was holding. It was obvious Erwin’s conversation would take a while; I decided to keep the email discussion for later.

            I continued to jot down notes in the small planner, crossing out meetings that were postponed and attended to. Minutes later, I didn't think I’d be calling out “Mr. President” in a panicked voice, only to see him pushed by a two-toned hair man.

It happened quickly, barely giving me time to breath. My advice of watching out for cars didn't get through Erwin’s head. Looking through the schedule, I suddenly looked up. A truck was heading in his direction; the driver was on the phone, happily chatting and obviously distracted.

 After seeing the truck, I called out in a rush. But, because of my mysophobia, I hesitated to pull Erwin into safety. The accident could have been worse if Jean didn’t swoop in and play hero; I didn't really speak to him until he was leaving the hospital.  

**. . .**

          “It’s a fracture of the knee cap,” said the doctor. “Despite it being a fracture, it’s pretty minor. There isn't any reason to hospitalize you, but if you don’t have someone to help you with daily activities, it could be troublesome. Since you’re living on your own, we’ll hospitalize you in the meantime for observation.”

          Erwin let out a small, disappointed sigh. “Well, this sucks. I mean, I should feel glad I only fell, but. . .”

“Getting a fracture just from falling is probably because of age,” I said, meaning no disrespect.

He chuckled, the corner of his eyes wrinkling slightly.

“What should I do about your work from tomorrow on?” Erwin let out another sigh, running his fingers through his blonde hair.

“For now, just deal with the everyday work as you see it fit, Marco.”

“Yes.”

“If anyone wants to meet with me, please tell them I am on a business trip overseas.”

“Understood.”

“And for the exhibition in Shiganshina next week—“

         At this point, I pulled out the small planner and a pen. Erwin begun to change his schedule, making up explanations for certain events and such. My pen didn’t stop moving until Erwin suddenly stopped speaking. I looked down at him, figuring out who he was looking at. A small ‘um’ left my lips. Smooth move, Bodt, _um._

          Erwin was looking at his rescuer, a two-toned hair man with amber eyes and an undercut. The rescuer stepped forward and began to speak.

“Is it okay if I go now? I have work.” How delightful.

“Ah. Jean was it? You helped me out today, thank you.”

          Jean shrugged it off, as if he’s saved dozens of people from trucks every day.

“I owe my life to you,” Erwin continued. “Allow me to thank you, please. Would you give me your contact information?”

“No, I don’t need anything,” Jean answered, hands in pocket and eyes anywhere, but on Erwin. “Besides, you got a broken bone.”

Jean then bowed, apologized and wished Erwin luck, and left the room. It was silent in the hospital room for a while until Erwin asked me to go after him.

“I can’t just leave it like this,” he told me before sending me off. I, on the other hand, thought we should just leave Jean be. Sighing, I slightly jogged to the elevators. He was, surprisingly, still waiting for the elevators.

          I called out to him, catching his attention.

“I’m Erwin Smith’s secretary, Marco,” I introduced myself, giving him my business cards. Maybe it was just me, but it took a while for Jean to take the card from my hands.

“I think it’s best if you would allow us to thank you for today, so I ask you to—“

“Do you have mysophobia?” Jean bluntly asked, looking directly at me for a change. The elevator made a ‘bing’ noise, and the doors slid open. I stared at Jean for what seemed like hours.

“It seems pretty bad. You should go and talk to a doctor about it.”

           He looked straight ahead, into the elevator. I continued to look at him though. How was he able to tell I had mysophobia so easily? Usually people wouldn't notice until they saw my gloves, or the way I looked at their hands. Jean asked about it so casually and without flinching. For some reason, it really bothered me.

“I don’t need to be thanked. I said it less than ten minutes ago.”

“How were you able to tell that I had mysophobia so easily? Not just that, but you said it seemed bad. A normal person can’t casually tell a person has a bad case of mysophobia so easily.”

Jean’s full attention was on me again. “There’s blood going through your gloves. They’re probably chapped because you wash them so much.”

          Unconsciously, I started to mess with my glove covered hands. When I realized, I placed them at my sides. He was right.

“It’s fine,” I lied. “I don’t need to be cured.”

Jean continued to speak, and my patience was slowly dropping.

“If it was treated, I’m pretty sure—“

“For a _stranger_ like you, it’s none of your business.”

           Crap. Why did I yell at him? He was only trying to give me tips, not that I wanted or even needed them in the first place. Panicking, I bowed.

“Please contact that number on the card if you change your mind.”

Then, I did the only smart thing I could do. I left.

**. . .**

          When I entered my apartment, relief washed over me. The day was finally over.

          I took off my coat, hung it by the door, and went into the bathroom. My plastic gloves were the first thing I took off. They were in the garbage a short time after. Then, I turned on the faucet and started to wash my hands. Looking at them only reminds me of earlier, when I lashed at Jean. He probably won’t be contacting the company anytime soon. That’s the first time I've acted that way to someone I just met.

          I turned off the faucet and looked at my hands again. Maybe I got angry at Jean because I hate myself for hesitating to reach out to the president. Honestly, I don’t need be cured. Mysophobia has become part of my everyday life, but in these situations, I can’t help but hate myself.

My phone began to buzz, a call from home. I ignored it, but not without looking at the screen for a little.

 

* * *

 

          The next day, I found myself standing by Titan Psychosomatic even though I was positive I didn't need to be cured. Now that I thought about it, going to a psychiatrist would be a problem with work in the way. I don’t have an appointment either.

Just when I thought I was going to give up for today, Jean was in front of me on his bike.

Did he have a disorder? I mean, why else would he be here, right? Maybe that’s why he was able to see my ‘pretty bad’ mysophobia.

“Ah,” I muttered. He was locking his bike. “For that time, um, thanks.”

          Jean didn't answer and continued locking up his bike. Finished, he stood up and looked at me.

“Did you decide to get your mysophobia treated?” I answered his question with another question.

“Do you come here?”

         Jean raised his eyebrows at me at first, but then he smirked.

“Nah. I’m a counselor at this clinic.”

          My hearing can’t be right. He didn't just say he’s a counselor here. Thoughts about the way I lashed at him yesterday kept replaying in my head. Quickly, I fixed my bag on my shoulder.

“I’ll just go home,” I muttered, starting to walk away. I was pretty sure he wasn't going to chase after me or anything. When I saw his hand in front of my face, my heartbeat increased. Jean’s hand was probably dirty. Just thinking about it made me shudder.

“I won’t touch you. It’s okay,” he told me. His hand slowly went down to his side. My heart began to calm down just a little.

“Coming to a psychiatrist takes a lot of balls, I know. Can I talk to you for a bit?”

          We started walking and I kept glancing at Jean. I started to notice small details after every glance. For one, Jean was shorter than me, not by much though. By looking at his face, he seemed older than me, maybe by a year or a few months. Jean was pretty good looking too.

I need to stop glancing now.

          In a few minutes, the two of us were in a small restaurant. He handed me a glass of soda before taking a sip out of his own. I only stared at the drink. It was pretty obvious I wasn't going to drink out of a glass that was used before me.   

“Are you okay with restaurants?” Jean asked, playing with his drink’s straw.

“Not really…” I muttered. “When I go out with people, I don’t eat usually anything.”

“Ah.”

           This was a pretty weird situation to me. Jean seemed like an unsociable guy, so how could he be a counselor? I started to fidget, looking down at my gloved hands.

“Marco, right? It’s out of the blue and all, but can I ask you some questions?”

I responded with a small nod. “Oh, um, I’m a little late with asking, but what about your work?”

“I’m off. I was only heading to the clinic to get something I forgot. Anyway, you don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to.”

           Jean was quick to bring the conversation back to me. I had more questions for him though. When I answered ‘okay’, he started to question me.

“Did you ever go to any treatment or counseling before?”

“No.”

“Have you tried to cure it yourself?”

“Well, I thought I was fine with mysophobia and all, so not really.” I let out a shaky sigh and ran my fingers through my short hair.

“Once in a while, I thought I’d read a self-help book, but I couldn't pick up one at the book store. The thought of someone touching it before me freaked me out in the end.”

“Is there anything else that you hesitate to do?”

          I thought about it for a short second. There is a lot that I hesitate to do, like reaching out to the president. That whole situation is the reason I’m in this restaurant with Jean in the first place—hesitating.

“When I go outside, everything seems unpleasant. In my job, I am able to bear with things though. The Erwin Smith, who is the president you saved yesterday, understands my situation. Because of that, I am able to complete my job.”

         Jean hums and takes a sip out of his drink. Looking at him now, I noticed he was taking notes. He did have a small bag with him, explaining where he got the paper and pen. Once Jean puts his drink down, he asks me another question.

“When did you become aware of your mysophobia?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Any idea what causes it?”

“I don’t know.” Jean sighs before looking into my eyes. His amber color eyes were mesmerizing, so I was a little disappointed when we broke eye contact.

“Do you have a notebook with you?” I nodded. It was Erwin’s schedule book, but it won’t make a difference if I write in the back. I opened it up.

“In there, write numbers one through ten. Then, write what you are hesitating to do. One is what you are least hesitant to do and ten is the most. You seem smart, so you get the idea, right?”

           I _seem_ smart? Oh gee, thanks. It feels good to know that he only _seems_ to think I’m smart.

“Take as long as you want, just fill it up to ten.”

         I looked down at the small, lined paper. Looking at it made me nervous. Jean said I could take as long as I want, but I’m not sure about how honest he was about that. I started writing, filling up one through nine. Most of my time went to ten, but it was still blank by the time Jean asked me if I was done. I would've said no, but I think I took long enough. It wasn't like I was taking a college test.

“Show it to me.” I pushed the book in his direction, looking to see if he would touch it or not.

  1.       Touch a doorknob.
  2.       Let others touch my things.
  3.       Buy a book at the bookstore.
  4.       Hold the train straps.
  5.       Eat at a restaurant.
  6.       Without my gloves, shake hands with someone.
  7.       Carry other people things without disinfecting them.
  8.       Drink after someone else.
  9.       Let someone else go into my room.



“You left number ten blank,” Jean muttered. “Well, whatever.”

“From now on, I’m going to make you practice everything on your list. We’re starting from one going down.”

          I’m hundred percent sure I heard that correctly. I’m hundred percent sure I didn't have to go to the bathroom before. My heart beat increased and I probably made a face too.

“Eh?”

“Haven’t you've heard of exposure therapy?” Jean asked, arching an eyebrow. “That’s the treatment. When we get to number ten, you’ll be cured.”

          Jean is crazy. I don’t even know him, yet he’s going this far.

“Why would you do all this from someone you've just met?”

“You’d seem like the type of person to help someone out, even though you just met them.”

“Is that your reason?”

“Would you believe me if I said I had no reason?”

“Obviously not.” Jean smiled at first, and a small chuckle escaped his lips afterwards.

“That’s good. I like honest people.” He took a sip out his drink again. “Okay, then. I’ll tell you my reason whenever you fill out number ten on the list.”

          Jean smirked at me, holding his glass in his hand. I couldn't tell if he was teasing it or if he actually meant it. Looking at his face made me lean towards the first option. His facial expression didn't matter though; my thoughts were still the same either way.

Marco Bodt, what the hell did you get yourself into?

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: nolyravioli.tumblr.com
> 
> || This fanfiction is inspired by the manga 'Ten Count' by Takarai Rihito ||
> 
> I won't be following the manga exactly since it's unfinished and I don't think the way things go in the manga would flow well in this fic. Chapter One was based off the manga, but in the future, I won't be using the manga as much for reference.  
> Also, I'm not sure if I should do another fic in Jean's point-of-view, but if I do this'll be a series.


End file.
